


King Thranduil ~ The Prologue

by thevalesofanduin



Series: Sé Andribb Ríce [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Caring Thranduil, Curious Legolas, Gen, Hobbit Culture, he is a softy for hobbits, or lack thereof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:39:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2166102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Thranduil of Mirkwood – once Greenwood the Great when times were less perilous – had met many in his life. But none he had met in his long life had made as grand an impression on him as had the smallest of folks. The littlest people who he had ever met, who had suffered much yet had hearts purer than any elf could wish for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King Thranduil ~ The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have been thinking about writing about the Origins of Hobbits for a while now. And so I did research, I read quite a few things and here I have my series Sé Andribb Ríce (The Little People).
> 
> I am quite happy with what I came up with, with my idea how hobbits came to be and I hope that everyone will at least enjoy reading about it.
> 
> This story will be posted in individual stories in my collection Sé Andribb Ríce and will, in the end, be a full story in chronological order.
> 
> I made a graphic to go with the story, which you can find [here](http://chinadollysgraveyard.tumblr.com/post/95220810640/after-the-battlefield-had-been-cleared-and-the)
> 
> Let me know what you think, I'd love to get some feedback!

King Thranduil of Mirkwood – once Greenwood the Great when times were less perilous – had met many in his life.

He had met elves of course, for he was one and he was fair. Not so fair songs of praise were sung, like of Lúthien, but he had hair more silver than golden and eyes that shone like the bluest of lakes in winter, beautiful and covered in frost. Amongst the elves he had met were great names, greater than even him although it pained him to admit, such as Ereinion Gil-Galad who had been the last High King of the Elves of the West.

He had met men, who were not as wise and fair as elves and whose lives were but a blink of an eye to an elf as old as the king. Yet men did much to change the course of history and amongst them were those that would endure for eternity through songs and stories.

He had met dwarves who were a stubborn folk, mining in their mountains and as great as their crafted masterpieces were so ugly could be their greed. Thranduil disliked dwarves and found them intolerable. Perhaps that was because the elf king, too, had been greedy once yet it had been the dwarves that had denied him the treasure he wished for.

But none he had met in his long life had made as grand an impression on him as had the smallest of folks. The littlest people who he had ever met, who had suffered much yet had hearts purer than any elf could wish for. They were periannath, or more simple, hobbits. And as hobbits were a plain people, the king called them by their chose name.

Hobbits had once lived close to Greenwood the Great in the vales of the Anduin. But as the darkness in Greenwood had grown, so had the hobbits fled although it had taken no little amount of courage to do so for such small people, who had never once lived somewhere else.

And so it came to be that early in the second millennium of the Third Age, hobbits migrated away from their haven in the Anduin valley. Their journey carried them westwards and Thranduil had not met a hobbit since then.

 

Until the day he and Bard of Lake town camped before Erebor, in search – or in avoidance of, depending from which side one looked – of war with dwarves. Night had fallen on the lands and a chilly wind blew over the plains for winter was nearing and escorted to them by a guard was none other than a hobbit.

One that offered him the Arkenstone.

\---

Bilbo Baggins was everything that Thranduil had known hobbits to be.

Yet hobbits were wary creatures – which was in their full right to be – that did not travel easily. To see a hobbit in a place such as this, it hurt the elf king. He had long wished for no harm to befall the race and had hoped – prayed, though he would not admit – that after their trek west, life would be better for the small creatures.

So to find one here, not far from where his kind had originated from, on something that come morning could very well be a battlefield, hurt. For he had hoped that at least they had escaped the darkness. And when Bilbo spoke of Thorin Oakenshield, his sickness and how he had banished the one being that had followed him from his comfortable and safe home, Thranduil seethed in silent anger. Even more so when he found out that Bilbo had never before met dwarves and that life in the Shire was indeed as comfortable as he had hoped it to be.

 _How dare those dwarves!_ He thought, enraged.

And thus, king Thorin had given Thranduil another reason to dislike dwarves.

\---

Bilbo Baggins stayed in the royal tent with the king and the prince.

In fact, Thranduil had asked him to, shocking everyone – including Bard now lord of Lake Town – with the exception of perhaps his son, Legolas.

But the king had not felt the need to explain himself. Why should he, when he was king and the hobbit looked so excited about the offer?

He did not talk to the hobbit on the way to their tent, nor when they were inside. Instead, he merely found himself a chair and watched with a bare hint of a smile as his son and the hobbit conversed.

It was a sight that warmed his heart.

 

After answering a lot of questions about hobbits in general and life in the Shire, Bilbo asked Legolas why the prince was so interested. Legolas laughed and said that of course he was interested, for hadn’t hobbits once leaved west of the Greenwood?

It was when Bilbo frowned that Thranduil worried.

“Oh, is this where we came from?” Bilbo asked, genuinely interested. At Thranduil’s look of shock, he chuckled. “Over time, the story of our origins got lost to us. Now, even we do not know where we came from.”

Legolas’ face fell a bit. “That is quite sad. Don’t you agree, Ada?” He asked his father.

“Oh no, no it isn’t.” Bilbo shook his head before the king could reply. “I mean, we are quite happy as we are. I imagine if our origin is of any importance or a big event of any kind someone would have written of it. But alas, no-one has, or at least not a one I know of, so I imagine the story is not all that grand.”

Thranduil listened, both stunned and relieved that hobbits apparently did not know a thing about their heritage.

Legolas frowned. “But, even so, you do not wish to know?”

Bilbo turned his eyes to Thranduil, for he rightfully so felt that the king knew more about his kind than he had told of so far. “Will it change me?”

Thranduil did not need to think about the question. A cold grimace falling over his face he slowly nodded. “Yes.”

For a moment, Bilbo looked stunned. His eyes widened slightly and he seemed to have some difficulty accepting the words. Then, though, he sighed in resignation and shrugged. “Then I do not wish to know.”

Thranduil would be eternally grateful for that decision.

\---

Thranduil’s worst nightmare had become a reality and battle had ensued.

But it was not elves and men fighting dwarves. Instead it was the three races fighting a common enemy, an enemy that deserved to be fought at all cost. 

Yet the cost was high.

Highest in number amongst men, for their warriors were not trained like the elves and the dwarves.

The highest cost, however, was on dwarven side. For in the fight, not only king Thorin had perished. His sister-sons, one of which his heir, had fallen at his side.

Bilbo was at Thranduil’s side when he heard the news and the hobbit burst out crying, big tears streaming over his cheeks and loud sobs passing his lips.

No-one knew quite what to do with the emotional hobbit and all elves in the camp watched, forlorn.

But not the king.

Kneeling down onto the ground, he opened his arms and murmured: “Come.”

Stumbling, Bilbo came and he clutched at the king’s robes as he cried in grief.

Thranduil raised a hand, cupping the back of the other’s head in his palm and he closed his eyes. This kind of grief did not belong to such an innocent creature and he wished he could take it from him. He knew, however, that he could not so he prayed to the Valar that the comfort his arms offered would be enough.

Those around them mumbled for this was not like their king at all. But Legolas understood, for he had seen the sadness in his father’s eyes whenever he had spoken of hobbits. He knew that of all things that had happened in his father’s long life, the coming of hobbits had affected him most of all.

 

Later, when the battlefield had been cleared and the elves, men and dwarves had lain their own to rest, the corpses of the Orcs and wargs were burned. But as the darkness that was nestled very deeply inside of them seeped into the ground, so spread its roots. Thranduil watched in silent horror and with lingering sadness. For this had happened before just centuries ago and he remembered. He remembered a tale long forgotten. One of hardships, of unfairness and betrayal. He remembered the story of hobbits and how they came to be.


End file.
